I guess I could write about any week, but this one really took the cake of how much London can be a pain in the a…… It was just one of those weeks where you had to say “only in London”.
It started off with Monday, always a bad day whatever way you look at it – still five days to go before the weekend, always tired from going to bed too late on Sunday night etc. Anyway, get up at 6.50am (the same time I do every morning) and remember that I have a very uncomfortable meeting at 11 am, damn, really not a good start. Go to catch the train, it’s late, nothing too unusual with that, but so is the tube and the next tube. Yes, we do catch that many in any one morning. We end up squeezed into the very sweaty armpit of the very huge guy rammed up next to us for the entire trip – great. That will teach us for missing the 7.42 am and having to catch the 8.03 am. Twenty minutes makes all the difference in regards to how rammed the carriages are. Oddly enough it was just bad luck that the tubes were all late. We weren’t given a reason, so we knew it was TFL’s fault, as they will always announce if there is a body under the train, so as to not make them look like a useless company, which a lot of the time they are.
Arrive at work, log on my computer… this takes about 20 minutes as we have the worst connection in the world and it often takes 2-3 goes just to get the thing to work - it was one of those mornings. Open up my diary for the week and am reminded of my very uncomfortable meeting with a colleague who has taken issue with the way I am implementing a project. We go for coffee (I was hoping that would be a more relaxing environment) but when we get there he says he doesn’t want any (I even offered to pay), oh no, this wasn’t looking good. Anyway, after a long discussion about the problem he had with my way of working (and as far as I know, he is the only one to have expressed an issue) we decide to call a truce and have another go at having a more amicable relationship.
Come back to the office to find out that there has been a shooting over the weekend - Friday night at the bar across the road from the office - that‘s a bit close for comfort. Admittedly it’s a bit of a dive but I have been known to go there for a drink from time to time after work on a Friday night. The borough is renowned for shootings and they seem to be having a bad run of them at the moment (since writing this there have been a further 5 that I have heard about).
With all that out of the way I now had the next thing on the list of my very grim week…… working out where to hang 200 signs telling people that if they drink publicly that they risk having their alcohol confiscated. You’d think that given my role is a strategy role I’d have some help with this job….wrong. This is a ‘no money’ borough. The job involved walking around the entire borough writing down the lamppost number (yes they are all numbered from 1 – 140,000) and what direction I wanted the sign to face – yes, the people putting these up apparently aren’t able to work it out for themselves. I’m sure you can see why nobody offered to assist me from my team, I wouldn’t have been offering if it was the other way around. Can you imagine the looks/comments you get when you stand at the base of a lamppost looking up it!!!! I can tell you! The first person, a street drinker that came across me told me that I looked fantastic for my years (not sure that was a compliment) and that I was gorgeous and could he take me home. Simple answer – NO. Second proposition – as I was looking up a pole for a number, a chap comes up to me and asks me if I “want any apple juice?” I think quickly, work out what he is talking about and say no thanks. Apple juice is a street name for methadone. I must have looked like I needed some as I looked up the pole. Proposition number 3 – “what you doing love?”, “looking at where to hang a sign”, “what’s the sign for?”, “to tell people about a new rule that is coming in”. While I am thinking about how I really should break the news to this inquisitive street drinker he starts saying “you’re nice, can I have your number?”, short answer, “sorry, no”.
The next incident occurred while walking back to the office on one of the days plotting lamppost numbers. I came across a homeless guy (can always tell as they’re generally carrying a sleeping bag and a bag of belongings) unconscious on the footpath. Being the “alcohol harm reduction strategy coordinator” I felt I had a moral responsibility, so rang an ambulance. It turned out that he was more sleeping it off rather than unconscious so he wasn’t in such a bad way after all – I didn’t get so close as to ascertain that for myself, although the ambulance operator was pretty keen for me to. I made sure that our rough sleeper coordinator new about it though, and I understand he has now been put into a hostel.
Back to Monday though, Si and I were off to the theatre for the first time. We had been recommended to go to Bent, a story about a gay couple during WWII. It was fantastic and we had a great night. I got on the tube to find someone’s Oyster card (these are London’s version of a tap in and out travel card) containing an Italian license and other bits and pieces including a condom (I hope that wasn’t planned for Monday night usage). So being the honest person I am I get off the tube and take it upstairs to the attendants and hand it in. Meanwhile some low life thief somehow got hold of my wallet and flogged it. I still don’t know how as I am very careful with my stuff. It must have happened either in the theatre or on the tube. Needless to say I was not happy. In great English style – my New Zealand replacement visa took 3 days to arrive and, I’m still waiting for my English ones over four weeks later.
The rest of the week passes with a maze of lamppost numbering along with a few surprises that came out of left field – being given 24 hours notice of a report for the Leader of the Council. Get it written to find that as soon as it goes on the website the media pick it up, don’t bother going through the press office, and take parts out of context and then just make up some bits and plaster it over the local newspaper. Thanks for that, as I have to spend the rest of the week trying to calm down those that weren’t so happy about it.
We also have more late trains and tubes throughout the week, late evenings home after heading to the gym and in general not enough sleep before having to go through it all again the next day. There are days when we wonder why we're in London!!! |